


It's Just a Cut, Really

by vivalataire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A bit of gore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Joly, Bahorel and R are idiots, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parkour, Wounds, alcohol reference, but nothing too terrible, surprise surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalataire/pseuds/vivalataire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And he looks at me for a moment, and of course I’m awesome and got the whole thing on camera- and he’s like ‘It’s a tad deeper than I thought. Can’t quite feel my fingers.’ and then we look at each other. For like- a really long time and-”</p><p>“You said hospital and I passed out.”</p><p>“Dude- I was gonna tell that part.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Asshole.”</p><p>or</p><p>Grantaire and Bahorel are stupid, Combeferre is frustrated, Joly is angry, and Enjolras may or may not faint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just a Cut, Really

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eetrelibre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eetrelibre/gifts).



> This was from a prompt on tumblr in my inbox, from the lovely eetrelibre
> 
> Prompt: "It's just a cut, really."

“We were obviously free-running-”

“I was free-running, Bahorel. You jump on things and yell about it.”

“Yeah, okay, Grantaire was free running and I was jumping on things and yelling about it-”

“Smart ass-”

“And we had just funneled two PBRs to see who would win-”

“I did-”

“And then he ran along a small street barricade against a fence and got his arm snagged on a piece of wire-”

“Wait, tell Ferre what I did after- this is the funny bit.”

“Okay so- _oh Christ_ \- R hopped down and took off the jacket he was wearing-”

“It’s ruined…”

“Hush. So he takes the flask out of his pocket, muttering about disinfectant and shit and then he takes the flask and just _POURS_ the vodka on the cut-”

“It’s alcohol! It disinfects!”

“Dude I’m telling a story- you know the Story Rules-”

“Right, sorry, carry on.”

“And he looks at me for a moment, and of course I’m awesome and got the whole thing on camera- and he’s like _‘It’s a tad deeper than I thought. Can’t quite feel my fingers.’_ and then we look at each other. For like- a really long time and-”

“You said hospital and I passed out.”

“Dude- I was gonna tell that part.”

“I know.”

“Asshole.”

“So you poured vodka? Into an open wound? To disinfect it?” Combeferre asked, already well into a deep sigh.

“You poured _what_ into _what_ to do **_what now?!”_ ** Ah, it seemed that bad medical practice had summoned the appearance of a very frazzled, and very angry Joly. _“Grantaire!_ You know that someone who drinks as much as you do has thinner blood than most- it’s harder to stop the bleeding as it is! No point in _pouring vodka literally directly into your bloodstream, you absolute idiot!”_

Grantaire had heard this many times. So many times, in fact, he had already zoned out. His eyes were transfixed by the sight of blood soaking through the white gauze he was holding against the wound- _“Apply pressure, R. Not vodka.”-_ and okay, maybe he was still a bit faint. They were at the hospital, in a private room (so Joly could yell freely) and Combeferre was pulled from observing a surgery; Joly had come running at the sight of Grantaire’s chart.

“Guys, as much as I love it when Joly rips me a new asshole, I think maybe I should get something to stitch me up?” Self preservation at it’s finest, really. And of course, Combeferre was already on it. He handed the stitching and needle and anaesthetic, along with gauze to Joly. “Really? Joly is stitching me up?” Grantaire asked exasperatedly, and Combeferre had the nerve to smile. _Smile!_

“You bet your ass I’m doing these sutures.” Joly handed the anaesthetic back to Combeferre. “And you’re going to feel every bit of it, you absolute cock.”

They were all quiet for a bit as Joly sat on one side of the hospital bed, starting to stitch him up, and continuously muttering under his breath- _“Honestly, Grantaire. Vodka. Absolute idiocy. I could beat you with my cane right now.”_ \- and Bahorel replaying the video for an ecstatic Courfeyrac, who had appeared to bring Combeferre his lunch.

As Joly finished the suture, Combeferre eyed Grantaire carefully from across the room, lips pursed, before he pulled out his phone with reluctance.

“Combeferre. Don’t you _dare_ .” Grantaire spoke through the quiet, unsuccessfully ignoring the soft exclamation of _‘That rhymed’_ from Bahorel.

“You know he’d throttle us both if I didn’t call.” Combeferre said wisely, correct as always.

“Ferre, we only just started dating. It’s been a week- please don’t put this on him.” Grantaire groaned, not looking forward to having a third asshole by the time Enjolras would finish with him. And really, it wasn’t the anger he was worried of, but the guilt.

“Oh, please, Grantaire. This has nothing to do with your relationship. You just don’t want him to yell.”

“Well, yeah. But still.”

Combeferre had already pulled the phone to his ear, and Grantaire held his breath, along with the rest of the room.

“Enjolras, hello,” Combeferre started, his side of the conversation being the only side they could hear, “I need you to not panic, he’s perfectly fine, but- Enjolras. I said don’t panic. Yes- he’s here. Yes, I’m at the hospital.” Combeferre released another sigh, apparently exasperated with everyone at the current moment. “He cut himself on a wire while free-running with Bahorel.” A few moments of silence passed, the only thing cutting through was the mumble of incoherent ranting from Combeferre’s cellphone. It grew louder, and after a moment, Combeferre drew the phone away from his face, hoping to save his eardrums from future damage.

 _“Oh, fuck.”_ Grantaire whined as he listened to the crescendo of Enjolras’ voice through the tinny speaker.

“Enjolras, really.” Combeferre interrupted. “I’m not relaying any of this, you’re going to have to come here and tell him yourself-”

_“Why would you say that?!”_

“He’s almost here.” Combeferre said, a hint of smugness behind his schooled impression. “Drive safe, Enjolras.” He spoke into the phone before snapping it closed.

All there was left to do, was wait.

* * *

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO SOMETHING SO STUPID-”

“Hello, love.”

“-I MEAN HONESTLY, GRANTAIRE, ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED-”

“Maybe.”

“-THIS PARKOUR NONSENSE IS RIDICULOUS, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE ME HALF OUT OF MY MIND WITH WORRY EVERY TIME YOU STEP OUT THE DOOR IF THIS KEEPS UP-”

“Aw, how sweet.”

“-HOW CAN YOU SIT THERE AND SMILE, YOUR ARM IS IN PIECES-”

“Enjolras, you’re being dramatic. I’m fine.”

“-I AM SO TIRED OF HOSPITALS! BETWEEN YOU AND BOSSUET, THIS IS GETTING OUT OF HAND!”

 _“Hey-”_ Joly interjected, ready to defend his boyfriend with fervor. He was silenced by one look from Enjolras, looking as terrified as Grantaire probably should have been. R reached forward, stupidly, with his injured arm, and tried to grab at Enjolras’ hand. Combeferre and Joly both jumped up quickly.

“Wait- don’t-”

“Stop! You’ll-”

And Grantaire was bleeding again. Profusely.

“Ah shit, sorry, Jol.” This time it was Combeferre who stepped in to re-suture the arm, with one look at the angry tremor in Joly’s fingers.

“LOOK- NOW YOU’VE GONE AND PULLED YOUR STITCHES-” It seemed Enjolras’ anger hadn’t wavered, but the flush drained straight from his cheeks, making Combeferre sigh. “-YOU HAVE TO BE STITCHED UP AGAIN, HONESTLY YOU COULD LOSE YOUR ARM, GRANTAIRE-” Which, no, he couldn’t.

The blood drained from Enjolras’ face rather quickly, and his tirade became less sure of itself as the moments dragged on.

“YOU CAN’T- YOU DON’T GET TO- I DON’T-”

“Sit down, Enjolras.” Combeferre chided, eyes not leaving Grantaire’s arm. “You and I both know you don’t like blood.”

“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND-- _okay.”_ Enjolras acquiesced, his legs shook slightly, and the pallid color of his face had a bit of a green tinge. He opened his mouth to keep pontificating, but his eyes were glued to the way Combeferre’s needle pierced Grantaire’s blood-stained arm. “I think I need to lie down.”

That is how Grantaire ended up with a very stressed, very nauseous Enjolras in his hospital bed, the blond head cradled against his lap. His gaze was turned away from the injured arm, face buried in Grantaire’s lap. This couldn’t stop Enjolras’ lecture, though, and he continued, albeit a bit weaker than before.

“Grantaire, honestly, you can’t just scare the shit out of me like that-”

“Sssh, I know, I’m sorry.”

“-You could’ve really hurt yourself, R, I mean- you won’t be able to paint with that hand-”

“Stop worrying, mon ange. It’s just a cut, really.”

“How am I supposed to stop worrying when my boyfriend is an absolute idiot?” The words weren’t spoken unkindly, and Grantaire’s stomach still did a small flip at the word _boyfriend,_ his hands threading into Enjolras’ blond curls as he attempted to console him.

“I’ll have to try and be less of an idiot, I suppose.”

“I mean, honestly, _I love you_ , you idiot.”

 _“What?”_ The whole room was quiet, everyone’s gaze avoiding where the two were curled on the bed. Combeferre’s hands continued to make quick work of the injury, but his gaze faltered for a moment. He refocused himself, only the small smile playing about his lips hinted at more uncomposed thoughts. “What did you just say?” Grantaire’s voice was weak, his pulse quickening as his hands stilled in Enjolras’ hair.

“You’re an idiot?” Enjolras tried weakly, wincing as he realized what he said. It wasn’t meant to be spoken out loud, but he couldn’t exactly retract the sentiment; any retraction would be a lie.

“That’s what I thought.” Grantaire responded, voice a few octaves higher than normal. Enjolras hadn’t left him with any breath to speak. “I love you too.” He managed, voice shakier than the moment Bahorel had recorded him passing out. “I love you too.” He repeated, a smile coming over him.

Yeah, he _was_ an idiot. But Enjolras loved him, so, it didn’t seem the day was a _complete_ failure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was way too fun to write, and I decided it deserved a place on my AO3.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr: vivalar
> 
> thanks to Azura and Kitty for the small dialogue contributions. <3


End file.
